


Trench Coat Angel

by Slanguage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Charlie Bradbury/Gilda - Freeform, Background Michael/Hester, Background Sarah Blake/Sam Winchester, Comedy, Cute, Drama, FBI Agent Dean Winchester, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Minor Character Death (Mentioned), Previous Minor Character Death, Social Worker Castiel, angel - Freeform, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slanguage/pseuds/Slanguage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak met the trench coat angel approximately five minutes before he met Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trench Coat Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song "Trench Coat Angel" by Tyler Ward: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zd70pcFeKxo

 

Balthazar blinked slowly, surprised, as Gabriel threw his head back and laughed so hard that his chair toppled backwards, tumbling to the floor, drawing the attention of everyone in the restaurant. Castiel stared around in horror as the patrons watched Gabriel start rolling on the ground, clutching his sides as his face started to go red, his laughter moving into the realm of giggling. Balthazar was still staring at his younger brother like he was expecting Castiel to yell, “April Fools!”

But it was December. And Castiel had never understood the true tradition of April Fools Day.

“Oh my god, he’s not kidding,” Gabriel gasped from the floor, still a vibrant shade of red. “This is the best day of my life.”

“I don’t understand why you’re laughing,” Castiel snapped, frowning unhappily, before looking to Balthazar, looking for a voice of reason from a man who looked as though he had just seen a dog get run over. “Can you please get him to stop laughing?”

“You gave her . . . bees,” Balthazar stated the basic point of the story Castiel had just spent the last few minutes explaining, looking at Castiel like he expected him to have more than one head. “You gave her a jar of bees, and you left a note.”

“Is that not how you show romantic intention?” Castiel asked.

Tears started rolling down Gabriel’s face. “Cassie, oh my god, stop, please, I can’t take much more than this. This is better than when you threw dog shit at the boy who stole your crayons.”

Castiel scowled. “I do not see how these two events are related.”

Gabriel dragged himself onto the table forcefully, his face wet with tears, his grin practically splitting the skin on his face, his eyes flickering mischievously when he looked at him across the table. Castiel thought, for not the first time, that it was the worst idea in the world to ask his brothers for relationship advice.

But he would sooner dip himself in battery acid than ask Anna.

That left him with Gabriel, Balthazar, and Michael. And, lo and behold, their eldest brother hadn’t even bothered to show up yet, leaving him with the two brothers that used to leave dead lizards in his school lunches.

After having to give funerals to many a dead lizard, Castiel wondered why his brothers were so astonished at his affinity toward small natural creatures.

“So, Cassie, who is the lucky lady?” Gabriel wagged his eyebrows suggestively. “When’s the wedding? Bees are practically a proposal in some cultures.”

Castiel knew he should have just consulted Google.

“Don’t call me that,” Castiel told his brother out of nothing more than habit, and looked down at his coffee. “And her name is Rachel. She works with me and she is very kind.”

“Older, younger?” Balthazar questioned, his eyebrows up. “Hot, ugly? Blonde, brunette, ginger? Come on, Cassie, we need more details than that.”

“She is my age and blonde and beautiful,” Castiel replied, sighing as he nudged his coffee cup with his knuckles, watching the liquid move like the waves of the ocean. Castiel curled his fingers around the cup, his palms pressed against the warm surface. “She is also not allergic to bees.”

Gabriel let out a whine of suppressed laughter.

Michael, as if appearing out of thin air, sunk into the chair beside Castiel, his hair windswept, and he looked around at his brothers, obviously sensing that he had missed something. “Hello. Why are you laughing?”

“Castiel thought that it would be romantic to give a pretty young lady named Rachel that caught his eye an anonymous jar of bees,” Gabriel filled him in.

Michael blinked once, slowly, before responding, “That’s not too bad.”

“That’s only because it’s better than when he wrote a short play in iambic pentameter confessing his love for his Literature professor in college.”

Michael glanced over at Castiel, obviously wanting to agree but not having the heart to kick his youngest brother into the dirt. Castiel sighed and shook his head at them, looking down with a frown at his coffee cup.

“I have long since accepted that I will be alone,” Castiel admitted to his brothers, “but I figured I would try to show her a nice gesture. I figured it may improve her day, or at the least make her feel better to know someone appreciates her.”

Gabriel snorted and Balthazar took a long swig of coffee to avoid commenting, but Michael—he always saw through all of them.

“Castiel, is this about Meg?”

Castiel’s hands tightened around the coffee cup. Gabriel’s humor snapped like a broken bone.

“Does it always have to be about Meg?” Castiel snapped uncharacteristically before his lips turned into a thin line and he stared pointedly down at his fingers, his jaw clenching. “I’m fine, Michael. The same way I was fine when you asked me a week ago, and the week before that. It’s been a long time.”

“Okay,” Michael said, obviously wanting to say more, but he knew when to stop speaking in a way that Castiel’s other siblings didn’t. Michael took the time to shrug off his coat and hang it on the back of his chair, rolling his shoulders, before he said, “Hey, Castiel, the holiday party for the firm is this weekend. Why don’t you invite Rachel as your guest? As friends,” he added the moment Castiel felt his eyes turn dark.

Castiel stared at Michael, looking for a sign of pity, but Michael’s face was open and earnest, a pure actor’s mask. Michael was one of the best lawyers in the city for a reason, and it was because he did very well at convincing people of what he wants.

Michael wanted Castiel to move on with his life, to open up to greater and nicer possibilities. Michael probably knew as well as Castiel did that it was almost exactly a year and a half since Meg died.

Castiel opened his mouth to decline Michael’s invitation politely before he paused, considering his choices more clearly and concisely and knowing that this tacky holiday party may well be the key to get his family to take a step back, and Castiel let out a long, exhausted, almost theatrical breath of surrender before he said, “Of course. Okay.”

“Okay?” Balthazar blurted out from across the table, stunned. “You haven’t been to the holiday party in years.”

“I am not fond of ridiculous sweaters,” Castiel deadpanned before turning back to his eldest sibling, catching the virtually unhidden look of relief in Michael’s eyes. “I will go. It starts at seven?”

“Thirty,” Michael replied.

Castiel nodded before getting to his feet, reaching back for his jacket as his brothers watched. “I should head back to the office—my lunch ends in a few minutes, and I know I have at least one new case waiting for me.”

“Good luck,” Michael told him, smiling. “See you Saturday.”

Castiel mumbled something not entirely pleased—and not entirely English—under his breath before nodding to his siblings and taking his leave, rushing to the door fast enough that it must have seemed as though he was fleeing. And, all things considered, he was.

His brothers cared for him. They meant him the best. But they never really understood how to present it in a way that wasn’t either thoroughly insulting or tinged with an air of uncomfortable professionalism.

Castiel was used to it. And yet, at the same time, he resented it.

It was much easier to breathe when he was out on the city street, breathing in the freezing cold air mixed with the smell of locomotives and overflowing trash cans, and he exhaled slowly, watching his breath twine into fog around him, and he glanced up at the shadowy sun.

Castiel always loved Boston. He had grown up in Beacon Hill, and that was beautiful, even in this gray time of year, but nothing beat the rush of the downtown, or the life that occupied its streets and sidewalks in a way it never could in his old neighborhood. Castiel valued the beauty of humanity above many things, and being able to stand in the middle of a crowded street with Earth spinning underneath of his feet, a million lives tangling together just once in the string of their destiny—it was more glorious to him as a sunset or a sunrise.

Being in Boston made him feel alive. Even if it was unnervingly close to his troublesome siblings.

Castiel sighed to himself. He hadn’t seen a problem with the bees. He didn’t understand why Gabriel found it so humorous.

Castiel tucked his coat tighter around himself as he walked, his head ducked against the wind. He was sure Michael was still back in the coffee shop, speaking in annoyed hushed tones to Balthazar and Gabriel over how they should have considered Castiel’s disastrous love life, and Meg’s untimely and emotionally-scarring end, before taking to mercilessly teasing him about his new attempts at romanticism. Castiel didn’t mind thinking about her like Michael seemed to assume he did—Castiel was used to the feeling of a hollow pain in his chest when he remembered the last time he had seen the woman he had truly loved—but he also knew it was becoming stifling to have to avoid the subject when it wasn’t appropriate, to approach it when it was deemed relevant. Castiel was ready to move on, and Michael was ready to act as though Castiel was under the scope of that murderer’s sight for the rest of his life.

His siblings wanted him to move on. His brothers and Anna had shown it well in the last couple of weeks, urging him not to spend the holiday alone, to get to know someone and see what happened. They didn’t want to push him too far from Meg, and Castiel only minded that they were still trying not to step on his toes.

They were treating him as though he was a child. He knew Meg was dead. He didn’t need them to bring her ghost into the room every time they met with him.

Perhaps Michael was right in urging him to the law firm’s sweater party. Maybe it was Castiel shying away from the topic that made them want to broach it, to wait for a day when he didn’t flinch away from the mention of her name.

But would he ask Rachel?

Castiel frowned, keeping his eyes on his shoes as he walked, and wishing he had been able to park his car in closer proximity to the coffee establishment. Cities and their inability to cater to automobile owners was simply devastating, in his opinion.

He was hallway through a step when a hand came down on his shoulder and a voice, sounding as though it was coming from the other end of a long tunnel, said, simply, “Castiel.”

Castiel started, stumbled, and spun.

A man was standing behind him, very closely disregarding the fundamentals of personal space the same way Castiel himself sometimes struggled with. Castiel blinked, caught off guard by the light that came from the man, as if the sun was positioned directly behind him, hiding the majority of the man’s features for all but messy dark hair atop his head and the shadows cast by his mouth. Castiel’s head spun, disoriented, as he gaped at the man, completely thrown off guard by the odd lighting, not understanding what could be causing it.

As if the man noticed at the same time he said, “I apologize for the theatrics. Hiding my face was necessary for this meeting, and the light—at first I thought it was suggested to me earnestly, but now I am beginning to realize that it was done sarcastically. May we talk?”

Castiel blinked at the figure before him, a man in a trench coat, and asked, “What is happening?”

“To the people outside of us, it appears as though you are talking to one of your brothers,” the trench coat man told him, and then paused. “Although they obviously will not know of them to be your brothers. Nonetheless, I am, uh, _disguised_ , if you will. I would be happy to explain the logistics of it, but we do not have the time.”

“Who are you?” was the first question out of Castiel’s mouth. He was always so curious.

The man lit up by a white light, lit up like an angel, told him, “Right now, that is not of import. I am here to tell you something very important, Castiel Novak, and I wish for you to listen to me.”

Castiel stared at the trench coat angel, entirely disoriented, but nodded voicelessly. The angel’s shoulders slumped as if in relief, as if he did not expect Castiel to listen to him, but Castiel was somehow—calm. In a situation so surreal that he couldn’t even pretend it to be _real_ , he was calm and logical, and he was looking at the man in front of him with the classification of _angel_ running through his head as if it was the most obvious realization on the face of the planet.

The angel took a slight step forward, until the light practically blinded Castiel, and Castiel caught a hint of the angel’s eyes before the voice told him, sounding muffled and as if from far away, “In a few minute’s time, you are about to meet a man named Dean Winchester.”

Castiel waited for something important to be said, like a mission from God, but the trench coat angel stopped speaking. Castiel gazed into the light, squinting, and announced, “I don’t understand.”

“You are about to meet a man named Dean Winchester,” the trench coat angel repeated dutifully, and Castiel patiently allowed him to continue instead of interrupting to point out that he hadn’t meant _that_. “He is—he is very important to your timeline, Castiel. Do not forget this man. Do you understand?”

And, because he did, Castiel affirmed, “I understand.”

“Good,” the trench coat angel said, and then he took a step back and said, “Good luck.”

And then he was gone.

Castiel blinked the light from his eyes, looking around at the street, practically expecting to find it filled with other hallucinations, other impossibilities, but he found nothing of the sort. He found nothing but the same bustling street, the same untouchable lives, the same hazy rush that came with living in the city. Castiel glanced around, but there was no sign of the light, and there was no sign of even a man in a trench coat. Castiel frowned, confused, before he shook his head, reaching up and running a hand through his hair as he considered his options.

He was pretty sure that he was not mentally unstable. He was sure more signs would have been outwardly noticeable before it reached the stage of hallucination. He wasn’t entirely sure, and he would probably do himself some reassurance by consulting an Internet search engine when he returned to his office, but Castiel was mildly convinced that he had not imagined the last several minutes.

However, he wasn’t sure how else to explain a man filled with light and wearing a trench coat preaching the importance of him soon meeting a man named Dean Winchester.

Castiel thought about the slim chances of him actually meeting the man right before he stepped out to cross the street, and was promptly hit by a car.

In hindsight, Castiel knew he probably should have at least glanced at the street before stepping into traffic.

The car was—thankfully—not going as quick as it could have been, as it was nearing a red light, and Castiel was—also thankfully—barely hit in the accident. The front bumper slammed into his hip, sending him stumbling but somehow not losing his balance, and it produced quite an impressive bruise by the next morning. Castiel stumbled back from the hit, wincing, and the car screeched to a halt, the driver’s side door immediately getting thrown open, and a man jumped out from the car, his eyes wide, his mouth opened in surprise.

“Are you alright?” the man demanded across the car, hesitating only a moment before closing the door and waving off traffic before rushing around until he was standing in front of Castiel, wincing, sheepish. “Goddamn, man, didn’t your mother teach you not to walk into the street like that?”

Castiel could have said a number of things, but instead he told the man, “I don’t have a mother.”

“Yeah,” the man replied, a small grin pulling at the edges of his lips. “Me either.”

Castiel looked at the man, completely floored by the events of the last several minutes but still trudging forward, and he was suddenly struck with the beauty of the man in front of him.

He was about Castiel’s height, it seemed, perhaps a little taller, which meant Castiel was staring straight into his eyes, which were a bright and lively green, like flourishing grasslands, accentuated by a cluster of freckles all along his cheekbones. He seemed to be a gruff man with two-day-old scruff and a strong jaw, wearing a suit made to fit him and doing so with precision, but Castiel could see the laugh lines around his eyes, the parentheses around his mouth when his lips twitched upward. Castiel’s eyes flashed back to the man’s eyes when he realized he had been staring at the stranger’s mouth for too long to be socially appropriate, feeling horrified, but the man hadn’t seemed to notice, was instead still staring at Castiel like he was afraid he was going to punch him.

The thudding pain in Castiel’s side reminded him that his man in front of him had just run him over with his car, so a punch wouldn’t be entirely out of the question, but Castiel wasn’t a big fan of bringing aggression into situations that didn’t warrant it, so he instead just looked around, looking to the street.

“Traffic is moving,” Castiel pointed out as cars cut around the sleek black car the man drove, some of the drivers offering a one-fingered salute to the man as they passed him, but the man didn’t pay them any attention, barely even batted an eye.

“It can go on without me,” the man responded. “Are you okay?”

“You surprised me.”

The man laughed like the response was humorous to him, but Castiel didn’t know what else the man could have expected him to say. The man watched him curiously for a moment. “You’re a little strange, man.”

“I suppose I am,” Castiel allowed, “but you are the man who is parked in traffic after hitting me with your antique car.”

“Good point,” the man said, and then realization dawned on his face. “Shit, I’ve got to go. Work calls. Do you mind if I leave you with a card, and then you can call me from the hospital when you’re clinging to your obviously flickering life force from your dire injuries?”

Castiel was never very good with understanding humor, but he had become good at recognizing it due to being related to trickster Gabriel and sarcastic Balthazar, so he gave the man a weak smile as the man dug around his pockets, searching for something, and Castiel stared at the man and thought, _I wonder if he knows he is beautiful._

The man suddenly found what he was looking for and thrust out the card to him, and Castiel took it like the last several minutes had been a dream, like he had fallen asleep in the middle of the sidewalk a block away and that none of these strange occurrences had happened to him. But, looking at the man, he knew he could never dream up someone who looked like he had been built by Heaven itself.

The man offered him an apologetic smile before he said, “Call me if you’re hurt or anything, I’ll give you my insurance and I’ll pay no problem.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Castiel replied, and the man’s mouth twitched into a smirk, like Castiel had just done something funny.

“Then you can call me anyway,” the man told him, and then he winked before turning around and heading around the front of his car, pulling open the door and grinning at Castiel’s most likely stunned expression before sinking back into his vehicle, and Castiel stood on the side of the road, in the city curb, watching the sleek black car drive away, watching until it had disappeared around a bend and out of sight.

Castiel took a deep breath, and then he looked down at the card.

It read: _Dean Winchester, FBI Special Agent, Boston Headquarters._

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel said, testing the name on his tongue, and then thought of what the trench coat angel had told him, and then he shoved the card into his pocket self-consciously and glanced around the street, but still nobody was looking at him.

Castiel felt like something significant had happened. It had felt like kismet.

It had felt like Heaven reigning down a siege upon Hell.

It had felt real.

Somehow, although the last several minutes hadn’t made any sense, they were the first moments in his life where it hadn’t felt like he was treading water. He felt like he was cutting through the currents, heading toward something, and it took a manifestation of something that was either real or a figment of his imagination and getting hit by a car to make him feel like he was finally knocked out of the stupor he had been living in his entire life.

Castiel looked off at the street where Dean had disappeared down, and he gave himself only a few more seconds to uselessly stare before he checked the street for oncoming vehicles and rushed across it, knowing he was going to be extremely late back to work, but not regretting a second.

~*~

“You’re late,” Naomi stated the obvious.

“I got hit by a car,” Castiel deadpanned.

“What?” Rachel demanded from the cubical next to his, and she suddenly popped up above the wall, her eyes wide as he looked down at Castiel. “Oh my god, are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

A few days ago, Castiel would have felt overwhelmed by Rachel’s attention, and would have bashfully not known what to do with it. But now, with his mind spinning in a thousand different directions, Castiel just offered her a smile and assured her, “I believe I will live to see another day, Rachel. Thank you.”

Her dark eyes were still wide and honest, but her mouth tilted into a worried frown even when she nodded and sunk back into her own office space. Naomi regarded their short confrontation with sharp eyes, not looking curious _or_ entertained, before she turned the interrogation back to Castiel.

“I’m glad to hear you should be able to keep up your vital signs, Mr. Novak,” Naomi told him, “because I have a case for you to work in Southie. Police called it in. A man wanted for several criminal charges got caught, killed his wife, and his son’s got nowhere to go. You’re the best for the job.”

“Is this because my girlfriend was murdered?” Castiel replied.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Rachel’s cubical, and Castiel heard what sounded like something heavy hitting the desk in Inias’s. Naomi’s eye twitched while the rest of her face stayed like stone, and anyone other than Castiel would have been intimidated by her.

Castiel was usually mildly threatened by Naomi on a good day, but never intimidated. Alfie and Inias assured him that he was the only one who didn’t shit his pants every time Naomi walked into the room, and then they had scattered when Naomi _did_ enter the room, leaving before Castiel could ask them why their boss’s presence would disrupt his bowel movements.

Naomi silently handed him a file, a storm behind her eyes, and Castiel took it, glancing down at the address written on a sticky note on the front cover.

“My superiors from CPS should be there an hour after you are,” Naomi told him through cold lips. “Handle the situation until then.”

And then she turned on one three-inch heel and stormed away, practically leaving fire in her wake, and Inias waited until she had disappeared behind her office door before whistling in between his teeth.

“You’re going to get yourself killed with that attitude,” Inias told Castiel as he moved to pass his cubical. Castiel looked to the man, reaching out and unconsciously touching his aching side, and then shrugged.

“My life has already been in danger today,” Castiel pointed out. “I do not see Naomi as a proper threat.”

“Godspeed to you, then, friend,” Inias snorted, shaking his head.

Castiel blinked slowly, and then said, “Thank you.”

Inias looked up at Castiel and then laughed kindly, shooing him away from his desk, and Castiel walked to the elevators and pressed the button, exhaustedly thinking of the luxury of sitting down and relieving the ache of his hip, considering the weight of the phone number in his pocket.

Castiel exhaled as he leaned back against the wall of the elevator, closing his eyes.

Thursdays were always the most interesting of days for him.

~*~

Castiel pulled up in front of the crime scene with trepidation, parking his car a block past the scene, and barely managing to snag the spot as a police officer pulled away from the curb, taking that spot as his own and tucking his coat tighter around himself, reminding himself that he must purchase a more substantial one before winter’s end, and he moved toward the crime scene. He showed an officer watching the group of onlookers at the tape his credentials, and he was cleared with a stiff nod of a head, the officer lifting up the tape for Castiel to slip underneath.

Castiel wished he could say that the first thing he noticed about the scene was perhaps the ramshackle house, or the blood splatter on the front window facing the street, or even the three police officers huddled together and speaking in low tones in the small patch of dead grass in front of the home, but no—the first thing Castiel noticed was Dean Winchester.

Dean was standing with a burly man slightly taller than him and much wider, built like a bear and just as grizzled as one, recognition hitting Castiel like a frying pan, and he briefly felt the world tilt with sudden vertigo, and Castiel gasped for air. The two agents were turned toward each other and talking passionately about something or another, Dean’s hands gesturing wildly. Castiel realized with a shock that he had been staring, and he felt like a sheepish creeper as he wandered toward the men, wondering how good his luck must be to run into this beautiful man two times in one day, and he didn’t stop walking until he was standing right in front of them.

“Agent,” Castiel greeted and Dean started, turning to look at him and finding Castiel smiling as if nothing at all was wrong. “I certainly did not expect to see you here. Which I perhaps should have at least considered, since it is indeed a crime scene and your card tells me that you are a federal agent, but it still came as a surprise.”

Dean stared at him for a second, taken aback, before he blinked rapidly a few times and then smiled. “Oh, hey, man. Welcome to the party. You a detective?”

“No,” Castiel said, and then looked to the other man, who was watching them in confusion. Dean glanced to the man and his face betrayed surprise for a moment, as if he had completely forgotten the other agent was there, and then he turned back to Castiel with an easy smile.

“This is my partner, Benny Lafitte,” Dean introduced them. “Benny, this is the guy I hit with my car on the way over here.”

Benny looked torn between bursting out laughing and pinching himself awake when he nodded to Castiel, and Castiel supplied, “My name is Castiel Novak. We have met, Agent Lafitte.”

“Hoped I was wrong,” Benny admitted, his accent still just as foreign, his smile just as haunted as it was the day Castiel met him, shaken and horrified, hands covered in his girlfriend’s blood from a desperate attempt to restart her heart. “How are you, Castiel?”

“It’s been a long time,” Castiel said, and then smiled sadly, hoping his eyes didn’t show that his world felt like it was swaying on an open sea in the middle of a hurricane. “I hope you have been well, along with Andrea and your son.”

“All of us are doing good, thanks,” Benny said, his lips tipping up automatically at the mention of his family, but his expression was nothing but blatantly concerned when he said, “I don’t think you should be on this scene, Castiel. You know what happened in there.”

“I will not be hindered by my past to the point where I cannot do my job, Agent Lafitte,” Castiel replied easily, smiling like a burning man.

Benny looked like he wanted to argue but knew he wouldn’t be able to stop him, both of them knowing that it was not and would never be Benny’s place to decide Castiel’s wellbeing, so Benny just nodded and gave him a ragged smile. Castiel finally turned his attention back to Dean Winchester as the exchange ended, having purposefully kept his eyes averted for fear of staring too long, but he glanced to the man to find he had been staring at him through the entirety of the exchange, his eyes narrowed and not understanding. He didn’t look away when Castiel met his gaze, catching him staring—instead, he smirked at him.

“Can’t say I pegged you for social work, Cas,” Dean said, and Castiel blinked in surprise at the nickname, but he otherwise didn’t bother commenting on it, just tilted his head. “You look a little more like a tax accountant.”

“A dress code is required for my work,” Castiel responded easily, not quite understanding what Dean was doing. “My coworkers do tease me about being the fanciest in the cubical block, but I do not think I make more of an effort in my outward appearance than the rest of them.”

Dean laughed as if Castiel had said something hilarious. Benny just looked between them like he wasn’t sure if he should push them closer together or if he should grab one of them and forcefully drag them away.

Benny was saved from choosing when a police officer wandered over, asking them, “One of you the social worker?”

“I am,” Castiel identified himself, and then nodded to the agents before he allowed the police officer to pull him away, pointing him in the direction of a child of about eight years old, shaking in the back of an ambulance, a shock blanket draped over his shoulders.

Castiel went through his script, offering comfort to the child the best he could, feeling a residual internal panic scraping underneath of his skin, a small reminder of when he had been like the child, when he was huddled under a bright orange shock blanket, the flashing lights of the police cars and ambulances practically blinding him, making his head spin. He tried to comfort the small boy, but Castiel was one of the people in his profession that knew better than to think it would help him forget about this moment—about the overwhelming emotions, about the uncertainty and disbelief and terror.

Castiel once had hope that he helped. And then, when he was in the situation, Agent Lafitte trying to distract him as a coroner rolled a covered body out of his flat, Castiel had wondered if there was any hope left in the job he does.

The rest of Child Protective Services showed up an hour later and, when they did, Castiel looked around for Dean Winchester, but his car was gone from the curb, and Castiel was left wondering how the man kept disappearing every time he turned his back.

~*~

Castiel didn’t invite Rachel to Michael’s holiday party. He regretted it about twenty seconds after he walked through the door, Gabriel immediately falling on him like he had been waiting there for him, throwing his arm around Castiel’s shoulders even if he was shorter than the youngest brother.

“Cassie,” Gabriel cheered, already a little drunk. He smelled like sugar and stripper perfume. Castiel leaned away, just slightly. “Where’s the girl with the bees?”

“I didn’t invite her,” Castiel replied, managing to squirm out of his brother’s grip. “It would have been unfair to invite her if I did not host romantic feelings for her.”

“Wasn’t the point of the bee jar to woo her?”

Castiel hesitated, and then said, “I was mistaken in my feelings for her.”

Gabriel paused, obviously torn between feeling sorry for him and feeling proud of him—and then he caught sight of Castiel’s sweater. “Please tell me you aren’t wearing that.”

Castiel scowled down at his older brother. “It’s the theme of the party, Gabriel. Your garment is not any less ridiculous.”

“It doesn’t have puff balls,” Gabriel made a sound argument, flicking one of them, and Castiel slapped his hand away. Gabriel smirked. “So you’re here as single and ready to mingle?”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m gonna find you a future husband or wife,” Gabriel told him, tipsy, practically hanging onto Castiel’s arm to keep upright, and Castiel didn’t even have the energy to be cross with him—he just watched his brother sway, his eyes narrowing in determination as a dastardly grin spread across his face. “How about it, Cassie? What gender strikes your fancy today?”

“Surprise me,” Castiel said, and Gabriel giggled before dancing off into the crowd, ready to play matchmaker—or, most likely, to try to set Castiel up with someone to which he is uninterested in, and laugh while he gets more and more uncomfortable.

Castiel figured he would allow it only for the sake of Christmas spirit.

It also helped seeing his brother act like normal around him. Gabriel, for all of his jokes, was the one most sobered by what happened to Meg and the impact on Castiel, and seeing him fall back into his normal rhythms was refreshing.

Castiel tucked his hands into his pockets, feeling naked with the absence of the trench coat that he had left in Michael’s coat closet, and he paced further into the room, glancing around. He had of course been to Michael’s home, a large single-family house in Cambridge with a large open first floor, all of the interior décor handpicked by Anna and Hester, the work accented with fairy lights and garland and mistletoe that was all, more than likely, also done by the two a few hours before the event. Castiel had been to his eldest brother’s home a thousand times before, had even been to the holiday party on several occasions, but it was the first holiday party since after what happened to Meg.

And Michael and everyone that works for him, the second they heard his name, would know it.

Castiel swerved to the bar area, where Hester, Michael’s girlfriend of at least ten years, was standing, acting as bartender and hostess. She beamed when she saw him and skittered over, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek.

“I’m so happy you came!” she cheered, and then whispered conspiratorially in his ear, “Are you aware Gabriel is trying to set you up with someone at this party?”

“I threw him a boon,” Castiel told her, and she laughed as she pulled away, smiling brightly.

Castiel had always liked Hester. She was a strong woman—she would have to be to hold her own against Michael Novak—and she was sweet. Castiel had taken to liking her company over his own brothers’ on most days simply because she knew when to ask if he was okay and she knew when to just silently pass him the Vodka bottle.

Her Christmas sweater was a vest of red and gold swirls and lit up her face perfectly. Castiel barely restrained himself from asking if she understood the theme of her own party.

“Want something to drink?” she asked over her back, already skipping toward a table lined with booze and sodas, gesturing also to the food table questionably, but Castiel just shook his head at her with a smile, walking next to her to grab a cup and to start making his own drink.

“I might have to go a little bit stronger if the word is already out on Gabriel’s search,” he told her simply, and she smirked and patted his arm before moving to speak to another guest, and he finished making his drink in silence, drifting back into the room uneasily.

His eyes darted around, desperately looking for someone he would know and wouldn’t ask him if he was okay, when Inias suddenly appeared in front of him, his eyes wide, looking terrified.

“Gabriel just tried to set me up with you,” Inias told him before he could ask. “Dude, did someone spike one of his drinks? He actually _pursued_ me after I politely declined.”

Castiel laughed, the sound taking him by surprise, and Inias smiled in response. “Gabriel, from the beginning, has believed that you were only dating Anna to get to me.”

“We got married,” Inias deadpanned, narrowing his eyes. “Why does everyone think I’m gay?”

“Because you spend a little too much time on your hair, sweetie,” Anna told him, dissolving out of the crowd and skipping to her husband’s side, leaning up and kissing his cheek before winking to Castiel. “That and because you hero-worship my little brother.”

“I do not,” Inias insisted too quickly, and Anna and Castiel shared a smirk.

“So, Castiel,” Anna began, peering at him over the lip of her glass of eggnog, “word around the block is that you got hit by a car this week.”

Castiel shot an accusing look at Inias, who at least had the decency to look a little guilty.

“The bruises are practically gone,” Castiel lied, still feeling the dull throb of pain at his hip that came every time he moved too quickly. “I didn’t look before I stepped out into the street.”

Anna blinked once, twice, and then just sighed.

“Don’t be afraid to come stand with us if you get bored with this crowd,” Inias told Castiel, and then exaggerated a wink. “Maybe I’ll even take you home, handsome.”

“You’re both idiots,” Anna announced when Castiel laughed, and she wasted no time in grabbing Inias’s wrist and tugging him away, causing him to twist around and wag his eyebrows suggestively in Castiel’s direction, and Castiel laughed as they disappeared into the crowd, smiling more than he had in a long time.

He took a long sip of his drink, downing almost half of it and relishing in the sting of the alcohol at the back of his throat, and he moved along the edge of the crowd, listening to the chatter and the Christmas music playing softly from the stereo in the corner. Castiel leaned against one of the walls, holding his cup in between two fingers and gazing around at the crowd, watching people and studying them, thinking about how they, like people who pass by on the street, also have lives with secrets and heartbreaks and losses.

Castiel would never get over how easy it was to stand in the middle of a crowded room but still be absolutely alone.

He was pretty sure there was a neon light in the shape of an arrow hanging over his head, because it took less than three minutes of standing there peacefully before Michael materialized out of the crowd, talking animatedly and amiably with a much taller man and a woman with dark hair, pale skin, red lips, and a sweater with a dancing snowman on it, all of them smiling. Michael’s eyes flashed with something calculating when he spotted Castiel, and he beckoned the two with him to follow as he walked toward him, Castiel internally sighing as he straightened up from the wall, looking more presentable.

“Castiel, glad you could make it,” Michael greeted him truthfully, reaching out and clapping him on the shoulder. “I hear Gabriel is on the hunt to get you hitched.”

Castiel groaned. The couple tagging along with Michael laughed.

“This is the brother I told you about,” Michael told the man, obviously one of his attorneys, and the man’s eyes flashed with sorrow for a moment. The man was so tall and wide that Castiel would have been a little intimidated if he wasn’t wearing a hideous sweater with a moose with ornaments hanging off its antlers on it. “Castiel, this is an up-and-coming lawyer of mine, Sam Winchester, and his wife Sarah.”

Castiel shook Sam’s hand and said, “You’re the second Winchester I’ve met this week.”

“Really?” Sam asked, surprised, as Castiel shook Sarah’s hand and offered her a smile, which she returned even brighter. Castiel nodded in response to Sam’s shock.

“The first was an FBI agent named Dean.”

Sam blinked, and then burst into laughter. “That’s my brother, actually.”

“He hit me with his car.”

“Oh, you’re _him_ ,” Sam said, and then laughed loudly again, the sound booming over the music. “Well, if you need a lawyer for your injuries, I know where to find him.”

Castiel laughed and said, “I don’t think that will be necessary, but thank you for the offer.”

“He’s here tonight,” Sam suddenly announced. Sarah nudged him hard in the side with her elbow, but he pretended not to notice, his eyes looking at Castiel wide and earnestly—and pityingly?

Castiel stared at Sam, taken aback for a moment, and then his eyebrows shot up. “I keep running into him in the strangest places.”

“I’ll say,” Sam said, smirking. “He was just talking to me today, wondering why you haven’t called him.”

“ _Sam_ ,” Sarah objected sharply, this time bypassing the elbow and going straight for a closed-fist punch to her other half’s shoulder, and Sam, despite being twice her size, winced at the hit. Sarah turned to Castiel. “I apologize for my husband—for a lawyer, he really doesn’t know how to choose his words sometimes.”

“I think he knows _exactly_ what he is saying,” Michael chimed in, and then started laughing.

Castiel rolled his eyes at all of them, but he was smiling so fondly that his cheeks were starting to ache with the strain, and he told them all, “The entire night has been one running joke on my love life. Don’t feel as though you have insulted me.”

Sam looked around suddenly, towering over the heads of the crowd, his brow furrowing. “Speaking of Dean, I think we’ve lost him,” Sam said, glancing over to Sarah. “Should we look for him?”

“He’ll break something,” Sarah replied, and then smirked, before turning back to Castiel. “It was wonderful to meet you. Sorry to hear about the accident.”

Castiel waved her off with a smile. “It was great to meet the both of you as well.”

Sam sent Castiel one last look, one of curiosity and repressed sadness, before Sarah dragged him off in search of his brother—or, at least, under the pretense of it. Castiel was anything but clueless, even if he found trouble integrating to social situations, and he didn’t need someone to lay out an explanation to him that looking for Dean Winchester was an excuse. Michael and Castiel watched them go before turning back to each other.

“You mentioned me?” Castiel asked his brother, raising his eyebrows. “In what context could I have possibly appeared in conversation?”

“Social work,” Michael immediately volleyed, a more obvious lie never having passed human lips.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. Michael sighed and glanced around before leaning in closer, hoping to keep anyone from overhearing, and Castiel suddenly had a feeling he knew, after all.

“You and Sam have some similarities in the Azazel Martinelli case,” Michael admitted, seeming to be guilty, but Castiel knew he would have never let the subtle wording pass if he hadn’t known Castiel would ask, so this was something he wanted Castiel to hear—even if they were both standing in a happy holiday party and the sound of the man’s name made a feeling of sickness roll through his stomach. Castiel suddenly downed the rest of his glass of alcohol when Michael continued to explain, “Sam lost two people to him—his mother was Martinelli’s first victim, and his girlfriend was killed in the same way twenty-two years later. I just thought—if there was anyone—”

“I understand what you were trying to do,” Castiel interrupted impatiently, “but I do not need you to keep trying to give me therapy when I do not need it. It has been a year and a half since Meg was murdered, and, out of all of us, you’re the one that seems to be refusing to let her go.”

Michael looked Castiel in the eye and murmured, “That’s because I know you, brother. You miss her, even if you don’t want to, maybe even if you don’t know it. I just want to help you.”

“I know,” Castiel said, and then he shook his head and walked away, walking in the direction he had last seen Anna and Inias walking toward, thinking that, if he had to deal with any of his siblings, he would rather be with the ones who understood a thing or two about grief.

It took him ten minutes and bumping into a lot of people on accident before he slipped through the crowd and to his twin sister’s side, touching her on the back lightly, and she didn’t even have to turn to know it was him. She reached back and squeezed his arm reassuringly, knowing before he had to tell her that something was wrong, and continued her conversation with Inias as if nothing was happening: “I mean, I understand _why_ you think that Italy is going to win the World Cup this year, but you are sorely mistaken. It’ll be Germany. No, don’t try to argue, I’m always right.”

Inias sent Castiel a helpless look, and Castiel just smiled apologetically and shrugged, leaning back against the wall as the couple continued to debate football statistics, speaking as if it were an argument but none of their body language telling the same story, their bodies angled toward each other, still in love despite anything. Castiel watched his sister, the one who took care of him emotionally through a childhood with an absentee father and a mother who had either left them or died or both, and he was so happy for her his chest could burst.

But, sometimes, he looked at Anna, and all he saw was Meg standing next to her, rolling her eyes, her arms crossed over her chest. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but to fill in the empty space where he thought Meg was supposed to be, but she was gone, and Castiel figured that it would always be that way.

He didn’t see anything wrong with that. It didn’t feel wrong. He wasn’t crippled by it—and he wasn’t restricted by it. He looked at things sometimes and remembered Meg, but that didn’t mean that he had to pretend like she had never been in his life.

He had been in a relationship with her for years. Sometimes it hadn’t even felt destined for failure.

And then it had.

Castiel didn’t know how long he stood and watched Anna and Inias mock argue over European sports before Gabriel and Balthazar materialized at his sides, Balthazar looking smug and Gabriel looking absolutely slap-happy. Castiel eyed them uncertainly; even Anna and Inias turned to look at them, the world not at peace when the two middle brothers were up to something.

“A hot young thing has been periodically staring at you for the last twenty minutes,” Gabriel informed Castiel, wagging his eyebrows with a big grin. Castiel sighed.

“Are you honestly still on this mission?”

“He dragged me into it as well,” Balthazar enlightened him, and then grinned. “It’s been more fun than I would like to admit.”

“That’s the spirit, Balthy,” Gabriel cheered, nodding. “Operation Get Castiel Laid.”

Castiel considered his options for a moment before his shoulders slumped, and he turned to Gabriel and asked, “Who?”

Gabriel grabbed Castiel’s face and turned it to the room, pointing it across the way, toward about the middle of the room where the sofa was sitting. A group of three was standing in a loose circle and talking—Dean Winchester being one of them, his brother and sister-in-law filling in the empty spaces.

“ _Winchester_?” Anna demanded incredulously, and Castiel’s head snapped to her, stunned, wondering how many members of his family knew the Winchesters in normal situations when Castiel had to be connected by a car accident and a serial killer. Anna wagged her eyebrows when she caught her twin staring and offered, “Ten out of ten, Cassie.”

Inias shot her a look of all raised eyebrows, but, like a good wife, she ignored it completely, sipping at her glass to hide an entirely new smirk. Castiel was wary of it.

“Him,” Gabriel confirmed cheerfully, smirking up at Castiel, finally letting go of his face when he was sure he was seeing the same man that he wanted him to be seeing. “He keeps glancing at you, totally love-struck.”

“Who’s love-struck?” Michael asked as he approached, noticeably confused on their congregation, Hester on his arm.

Castiel made a sound of distress but no one could hear him over the tune of White Christmas.

“Watch,” Gabriel told them, barely containing himself from bursting into laughter, and all of the Novak siblings and their plus-ones turned to look at the Winchester siblings, all of them watching for something they didn’t know what yet.

And then it happened—Dean, who was in a conversation with Sam, turned and glanced over at Castiel, their eyes meeting immediately. Dean started in surprise, nearly stumbling backwards when all of the Novaks burst into a mixture of loud cheers and laughter, falling in on themselves at the display, drawing outside attention.

Castiel was horrified.

“My sides,” Gabriel cried, doubling over. “Oh my god, his _face_.”

“He hit me with his car.” Castiel somehow didn’t know what else to say about Dean Winchester other than to point out that he was capable of vehicular manslaughter.  

Balthazar clapped him on the back and said, “Sounds like fate to me.”

Castiel turned to him, startled, thinking about the trench coat angel, but Balthazar had no idea, and was just grinning like a kid allowed to get whatever candy at the store that he wanted.

Gabriel, Balthazar, and Anna all had the same idea simultaneously—they all reached out and pushed him, hard. Castiel stumbled a few steps forward, gaining his balance before he looked up and sent his siblings a venomous scowl, but they were all too busy laughing in his wake. Castiel looked to the Winchesters, still feeling horrified, to find that Sam was doubled over in the same laughter, and Dean was trying his hardest not to look embarrassed. Sarah was politely hiding her grin behind her wine.

Castiel caught Dean’s eyes and offered him an apologetic grimace. Dean smiled in response and moved away from his brother, maneuvering easily around a group of people until he was standing in front of Castiel, smirking at him, and Castiel could feel the smug grins from his family burning into his back.

Castiel, always saying things that turn out to be wrong, said, “My brother believes that we should be in a relationship.”

“What a coincidence,” Dean replied. “Mine thinks the same. Maybe we should take their advice and get out of here.”

Castiel rolled his eyes with so much sarcasm that it almost gave him a headache, but Dean’s laughter lit up his face and crinkled his eyes, and Castiel was probably staring again but he pretended like he wasn’t.

“The short guy behind you keeps making obscene gestures that don’t fit in with the fancy party,” Dean enlightened him.

Castiel’s head snapped around, his expression ice cold, his eyes threatening. He didn’t get mad often, not truly mad, but, when he did, he apparently struck fear into hearts with the intensity of an avenging angel. His siblings caught sight of his glare and they all went scrambling in different directions, disappearing into the party, probably to find better vantage points, but at least they wouldn’t all be so frustratingly obvious.

Dean’s laughter washed over Castiel’s skin again, and Castiel wondered when the last time was that someone enchanted him like this, or if it had ever happened before at all.

“We gotta stop running into each other like this,” Dean teased as easy as breathing, his smile kind, his eyes lit up like fireworks in a night sky.

“We do seem to meet on the strangest of coincidences,” Castiel agreed, thinking uneasily of the way Balthazar had called it fate. “Still, it’s good to see you again, Dean.”

“You, too, Cas.” Dean’s smile could have lit the entire city. He suddenly coughed, clearing his throat, before he said, “So you know my boss.”

Castiel tilted his head, confused, and then laughed. “Oh, you have the pleasure of working under Anna?”

“I do indeed,” Dean responded. “How do you know her?”

“She’s my twin sister,” Castiel enlightened the enigmatic green-eyed man. Dean’s eyes snapped to where Anna and Inias had scattered to, still in sight and spying, and then he looked back to Castiel.

“Her last name is Milton,” Dean deadpanned like Castiel had no idea.

“She’s married, Dean. Sometimes, people get married, and they change their names.”

“Thanks, smartass.”

Castiel looked away, unable to fight the smile that forced its way onto his face just in being in Dean’s presence, and he filled the silence by saying, “Your brother told me that you are upset I haven’t called you yet.”

“I’m going to shave his head when he’s sleeping,” Dean growled, his eyes flashing, and Castiel didn’t think he had truly laughed as much as he had in this single conversation than he had in the last six months. His cheeks were beginning to strain, his jaw practically aching. It was the best feeling in the entire world.

“I think he just had your best interests in mind,” Castiel told Dean, but he couldn’t disguise the laugh trembling underneath of his words. “If it makes you feel better, just remember that my entire family just cheered when you looked at me.”

Dean’s laughter was louder than the music, and the sound set Castiel’s chest on fire.

“How about this?” Dean asked, shifting closer, the grin on his face becoming something more devious. “How about you give me your number, and we can set up a date, and we can talk about how embarrassing our families are without them listening in to every word.”

“I am insulted you think we’re listening,” a very drunk Gabriel told them from a foot behind Castiel, and then said, “Shit.”

Castiel laughed but typed his number into Dean’s phone anyway, smiling a little extra wide when their hands brushed when he handed the device back, and Dean was turning a bright shade of red when he murmured, “I’ll call you.”

“Anytime, Dean,” Castiel said, and then it was his turn to blush red when he heard his brothers sniggering behind him. “I’m going to go deal with them now.”

“My brother’s going to want to talk about my _feelings_ ,” Dean sighed, and then offered a wink to Castiel before disappearing back into the crowd, reappearing again in front of his smirking brother and sister-in-law, and Castiel barely had the time to stare at him wistfully and pine before Gabriel and Balthazar came out of nowhere and grabbed at his ridiculous sweater, their grins sharp and entertained and rambunctious.

“Aw,” Balthazar purred. “Cassie’s got a new beau.”

“And he didn’t even have to give him a jar of bees,” Gabriel sighed happily.

Castiel pushed away from them, muttering something about interfering brothers and pains in his neck, and his brothers high-fived as he stormed off to Anna, seeking her understanding, but she was just standing there and smirking at him as he approached, and he considered just turning around and walking away before he even got to her, but instead he meandered up to her and stood there like he was facing a firing squad.

“He’s not going to hear the end of this when we get back to the office,” Anna said, and then grinned.

Castiel groaned. “It’s just my number and a coffee date.”

“Exactly,” Anna said, and then wagged her eyebrows. “It’s in the twin job description to drive potential suitors up the wall. If Inias didn’t have a total guy crush on you, he would have been running from the first week, if you remember correctly.”

“Oh, yeah,” Castiel replied, remembering the way he had good-naturedly terrorized Inias the moment that Anna had left the CPS office with his number in hand and her face the color of her hair, feeling like it was a lifetime ago, like it had been someone else entirely, and he grinned despite himself. “I almost forgot about that.”

“I give the guy props for not turning tail and running yet,” Inias told him, nodding firmly. “And, despite my love for you being so terribly rejected in this way, I will respect how adorably disgusting you both already are.”

“You’re an idiot,” Anna told him lovingly, and Castiel’s stomach barely flipped when they shared one of their love-dovey newlywed stares, his mind on a man just across the room, the sparks still flying under his skin.

“My socialization quota is just about used up for the night,” Castiel informed them when they broke out of their spell, throwing back the rest of the drink he hadn’t even realized he was still holding and putting the empty cup down next to Anna’s. “I think I’m going to get out of here. The two of you think you can survive the rest of the night without me?”

“I think we’ll manage,” Anna told him, rolling her eyes, but there was a new soberness to her smile when she looked at him. “Call me if you need me, alright?” she added, seeing right through him, and he leaned over to kiss her on the forehead before nodding, and she knew he wouldn’t, and _he_ knew he wouldn’t, but it was the thought that counted.

“See you all on Christmas morning,” Castiel told them, giving them a wave, and he broke off to say goodbye to his brothers, who all gave him a curious glance when he made his excuses, and Castiel expected Michael to speak the obvious but he didn’t—he only clapped Castiel on the back and told him to drive safe.

Castiel didn’t let it catch up on him until he was standing in his dark, silent apartment. He felt it approaching him like a freight train, unrelenting and fierce, and he sank onto the couch, the first piece of furniture he and Meg had bought together (an argument that had thankfully not ended in her scratching his eyes out like it seemed as though she might), his hands twisting into the blanket she had gotten from a craft fair two weeks into their relationship, and he barely managed to take a deep breath before he felt the weight on his chest begin to crush him.

He felt too hot, so he pulled off his stupid sweater, throwing it across the room, and he dug his hands in his hair as the cold air brushed against his arms, exposed from his t-shirt, and he hung his head and tried to breathe through the panic attack pressing in on him from every angle.

It had been a year and six months. It was the second Christmas without her. But it still felt like she died last week, like he would look down and still find her blood underneath of his fingernails.

Castiel dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, tugging the outside zipper open gingerly and digging out the only object inside, his hands shaking as he turned the diamond ring over and over in his hands.

He had so many plans. He had thought that he knew what his life would be like forever. No matter how much he had fought with Meg, no matter how opposite they were, he always thought that she would be a permanent part of his life, because she didn’t want to leave and he didn’t want to leave, and they loved each other despite everything.

And now she was gone, and he was afraid to move on. She was dead, and he liked Dean Winchester a lot, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Meg’s ghost was clinging to him, watching him try to walk away from her, and he couldn’t help but to feel like he was breaking her heart.

But he knew better. Castiel saw terrible things happen to people every day, and he had his heart broken by them _every single day_. He knew better than anyone that ghosts aren’t real, and that the only ghosts that may exist are only the doubts and fears in one’s own mind. He knew Meg wasn’t standing over him and rolling her eyes, telling him that he was overreacting but still running her hands over his skin until he could breathe again. He knew she wasn’t standing there and narrowing her eyes and asking, _“Dean Winchester? Seriously? Boy toy looks like a Ken doll with daddy issues.”_ Despite everything, though, it felt like she was, and he hyperventilated and clutched at his chest, the engagement ring digging into the palm of his hand, and he wondered if it would always feel like ripping out his own heart.

He had to let Meg go, and that was why he was so afraid.

Castiel closed his eyes, breathing harshly, and he thought about the way Dean had smiled at him, the way the man had flushed in embarrassment but had persevered still, and Castiel thought about the call that would come, and he knew he would answer it, even if he was scared.

Michael was right. Of course he was. Meg still lingered everywhere he went, overshadowing him, and he had to accept that she wasn’t coming home.

He had to accept that no one would ever wear this ring.

Castiel rubbed at the wetness on his face and he shoved the ring back into the safe pocket in his wallet, tucking it back into the pocket of his jeans, leaning back and tilting his head to look up to the ceiling as he heaved breaths through his mouth desperately, his chest rising and falling, his fingers shaking as they curled into the blanket and held it closer to his chest.

Light suddenly flickered into existence in front of the couch, a bright white light that shouldn’t have felt so familiar, and Castiel groaned.

“Not this again,” he muttered to himself, pressing his eyes shut, but the glow continued through his eyelids. “You are hallucinating. It is not real. There is no such thing as that trench coat angel.”

“Um,” the trench coat angel said. “Should I come back later?”

Castiel opened his eyes, and the man was still standing in front of him, still glowing, and he couldn’t help but to demand, “What is it this time? Am I going to get hit by another car?”

“I hope not,” the angel told him. “That seemed unpleasant. I apologize for not warning you.”

“You’re forgiven, I guess,” Castiel replied to him, thinking again and again _he’s a hallucination_ , but something about him felt so odd, like he didn’t even belong in his mind, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this glowing man with a trench coat was way too real. “This is kind of a bad time.”

“Sorry,” the angel said, but didn’t make a move as if to leave. “You have made contact with Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah, sure, he’s great,” Castiel replied flippantly.

“You two are an unforgettable duo,” the man told him, and he sounded so sad, so mournful, that Castiel looked up and squinted, trying to see if the angel’s face showed the same vulnerability, but he couldn’t see even a feature. “I wanted to warn you that there are hard times headed your way, Castiel Novak, and you are going to need him to keep you standing, no matter how much you may want to push him away on impulse. Fear and anger are the ugliest of human emotions, but do not let them cloud your own judgment.”

“Are you just going to keep showing up and waxing weird poetry about mine and Dean’s potential relationship and my near-future misfortunes?” Castiel demanded rhetorically.

“I will more than likely only reappear to you one more time,” the angel answered him honestly, thoughtfully. “But I suppose that it depends on what path the future takes.”

“Why are you so interested in me?” Castiel demanded. “Let’s pretend you’re real—why would you give a damn about what I do with my life, or even my love life?”

“Because,” the angel whispered sadly, “one of us deserves happiness.”

The angel disappeared before Castiel could say another word, and he laid awake most of the night, thinking about ghosts and rings hidden in wallets and a man with freckles and green eyes, wondering why the hitching voice of the angel’s reminded him so closely of his own.

~*~

Castiel figured Dean would be braver than him, but it still took two more days before Dean’s number flashed on Castiel’s cell phone screen, and Castiel considered not even bothering answering for a moment before he picked it up, and he hoped he didn’t sound too eager when he answered, “Dean?”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, and he sounded tired, exhausted, but cheerful. “Sorry it took me so long to call. How you been?”

“Fine,” Castiel told him, and it tasted like a lie. “How have your holidays been?”

“Lovely,” Dean said. “Your sister is making me work. It’s quite the interesting Christmas present.”

Castiel couldn’t help it—he laughed. “I think that harsh treatment is Anna’s way of granting you her blessing.”

“Huh,” Dean commented, sounding doubtful, but then he changed the subject. “I do believe that I owe you a coffee, Mr. Novak. Do you have a preferred place or time?”

“Is today fine?”

“Cas,” Dean said, “today sounds like a fucking vacation.”

Castiel was grinning the entire time he rattled off the name of an establishment just outside of downtown, his favorite haunt when it came to coffee and downtime, and Dean told him that he could be there in an hour and that he looked forward to seeing him there, and Castiel smiled dumbly down at his phone for five straight minutes before letting out a long breath, turning his head to look at Meg’s blanket folded neatly at the end of the couch.

“I’m so fucked,” he told the blanket, and then scrambled to find something to wear.

~*~

Dean was sitting at a spot by the front window with two coffees in front of him when Castiel blew in with the wind, feeling frazzled and confused at nothing in particular, and Dean’s smile brought him back down to reality. Castiel shrugged off his jacket and sat down in the chair opposite, giving him an apologetic, sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” Castiel told him, brushing snow out of his hair. “I didn’t expect the weather.”

“You’re only two minutes late,” Dean pointed out, and then shoved one of the coffees at him. “You look freezing.”

“I’ve been warmer,” Castiel relented, shooting Dean a thankful grin as he grabbed the coffee, but he froze as he started to lift it closer to his face, looking down at it in surprise, and he gazed back at Dean, eyes widening. “How—?”

“I asked Anna how you took your coffee,” Dean admitted, and Castiel knew they both would probably deny it later but they both flushed red and timid. Castiel sighed lightly.

“She will never let either of us forget it,” he told Dean somberly, but Dean just grinned anyway, shrugging and leaning back in his chair, taking a long swig of his own coffee, watching Castiel over the rim of the cup.

“I knew that, if I asked you, you would probably refuse to tell me so that I couldn’t buy,” Dean shared with him, laughing when Castiel’s eyebrows went up, a little impressed with the man’s observations. “C’mon, Cas, don’t give me that look, I profile people for a living.”

“It’s still impressive,” Castiel told him, and Dean smiled at him thankfully.

“Freaks my brother out,” Dean admitted, and then laughed a little even though it looked like he tried not to, obviously thinking of one memory in particular. “It’s always been easy for me to read people. Most think it’s really creepy.”

“I don’t,” Castiel said, and that was the end of that.

Dean smiled timidly down at his coffee, his fingers curling nervously into his napkin, before he looked up and asked, “So, got anything planned for the holidays?”

Talking with Dean was easy.

Dean had about forty-five minutes to kill before he had to head back to the office, smiling politely and telling Castiel it was classified when he asked about the case—Castiel bit his tongue and didn’t bother to share that his father was one of the directors of Dean’s entire department—and the two of them spent the entirety of the time just talking. About everything, and anything. Dean told him about spending Christmases with Sam (whom he affectionately called “Sammy”) here in the Boston area, but last year they had returned with Sarah to part of their old roots, back to an old family friend in South Dakota who had always been there to help when the goings got tough. Castiel told Dean about the infamous Novak family dinners, and Dean nearly swallowed his tongue laughing when Castiel told him about last year when Gabriel had tripped while carrying the ham and it had somehow flown across the table and slammed Michael in the chest, which had ended up in a mixture of chaos of half of the people trying to clean up the mess and the other half laughing hysterically and being unable to move.

“I’ve never seen Michael look so surprised,” Castiel told Dean, still laughing at the memory.

Dean told him about growing up with a mom who passed in his childhood and a father that was more than a little paranoid, and he talked about how proud he was of Sam getting into Stanford and getting his law degree, confessing that he had practically raised his brother since their mother’s death.

“Mom died when I was four and Sammy was about six months,” Dean informed him, not telling him how she died, not knowing that Castiel already knew it was Azazel Martinelli. “Dad died when I was about sixteen, and Sam was twelve. We moved in with Bobby and I took classes at the community college until Sam left, and then I took off for Michigan State to study criminology. It was way too damn cold up there, don’t know what I was thinking. Took a job in Boston out of Langley when Sam left Stanford for law school at Harvard.”

“Your brother is incredibly intelligent and successful,” Castiel told Dean, watching his face brighten in pride, “and you have sacrificed so much for him.”

Dean shrugged like it was nothing and said like it was obvious, “He’s my brother.”

“Not many people would do the same as you did for him,” Castiel told him, smiling at him with pride he didn’t understand, but also did not question. “You shaped him into the man he became, while also building a legacy for yourself. That’s both amazing and brave. You should be a little more proud of yourself.”

Dean looked across the table at Castiel, looking at him with adoration, like Castiel deserved a second of that, and Castiel started to smile a little uncomfortably right before Dean’s cell phone started buzzing on the table top, and Dean let out a curse before answering it. “Winchester.”

Castiel took that moment to glance out the window. The snow had let up. Time had passed. The last three quarters of an hour felt more like a dream than anything else.

“Yes, your brother is with me,” Dean said, and Castiel turned his attention back to Dean’s conversation, offering him a smirk when he gazed across the table helplessly to him, but Castiel was fully ready to sit back and let Dean deal with the protective sister he had accidentally let loose. “No, you can’t talk to him. _No_ , Anna. Don’t pull the authority card, that’s just unfair and a complete miscarriage of your promotion. _No, Anna_.”

Castiel started laughing as Dean muttered a _Goddamn, I’ll be there in ten minutes, Milton, take a deep breath_ , before tucking his phone into his pocket and smiling sadly up at Castiel.

“I’m being paged,” Dean announced unnecessarily, sighing. “Will you answer the phone if I call you tonight, or have you decided to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction?”

“I’m still deciding,” Castiel told him, and laughed when Dean rolled his eyes. “Call or text me anytime you want, Dean. We’ve gone over this.”

“Right,” Dean said, and they stood and moved to throw out their cups, shrugging on their coats in an amicable silence, the most purely enjoyable silence that Castiel had known in years, and it was Dean that turned and looked at him with a small, hopeful smile.

Castiel surprised himself with being the one to make a move. He reached forward and took Dean’s face in his hands, smiling as he looked into his eyes, and Dean’s lips curled into an answering smile moments before Castiel leaned in and pressed their lips together, and Castiel closed his eyes, the nerves under his skin transforming into something like happiness.

And then Dean’s phone started ringing again.

“Damn it,” Dean sighed against Castiel’s lips, pulling away, and he reached for his phone at the same time he went for his car keys, Castiel’s hands falling back down to his sides, and Dean grinned at him, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, I am _definitely_ calling you tonight, Castiel Novak.”

“Maybe I’ll even answer, Dean Winchester,” Castiel told him with what had to be a blinding smile.

Dean shot him one more big grin before ducking out of the coffee shop and disappearing down the street, the phone to his ear and his pace quick, and Castiel watched him disappear the same way he had watched the Impala drive off after the first meeting, and he took a deep breath.

He didn’t not expect for his feelings to be so solid after one hour, and one kiss.

Castiel put his hands in his pockets and ducked his head before passing into the Bostonian chill, heading back to his apartment to bask in the nothingness of a week off, knowing he would be sitting and smiling, watching his phone and waiting for a call to come, and Castiel thought that it was one of the most optimistic days he had in a long time.

~*~

“So, Cassie, how’s the beau?” Balthazar asked over Christmas dinner, all of them trying so hard to fill the silence that had carved itself into the room the moment that Michael had told them that their father would not be joining them, all of them not having to say out loud how many times like this their father has managed to let them down. Castiel looked down at his plate, poking his fork against the ham (that had thankfully made it onto the table without hitting Michael like a softball to the ribcage), and he smiled a little.

“Aw, look at him,” Inias commented, smiling dreamily. “He’s already wonderstruck.”

“Winchester’s practically been drawing hearts and your initials in his case files,” Anna teased, her eyes sparkling mischievously, and Castiel wondered for not the first time why he keeps going to these dinners. “It was the single most adorably sad thing when he had to wander into my office in the middle of the day and ask how you take your coffee.”

“Vanilla iced with a dash of Dean Winchester’s hot body,” Gabriel pretended to answer, batting his eyelashes. He barely managed to dodge the piece of roll Castiel hurtled at his face. “I mean, I _assume_ his body is hot. He looks nice in a suit, in any case. And, due to the muscle car I saw him driving around in, I’m sure he takes his masculinity rather seriously.”

Castiel just rolled his eyes at his siblings and forced himself to take a large bite of mashed potatoes to keep from snapping at them and telling them to leave him alone.

“Have you got it on yet?” Gabriel asked, and Castiel choked on the mashed potatoes.

“Gabriel, it’s Christmas,” Michael snapped, sighing from his spot at the head of the table, where he always sat when their father couldn’t make it. Hester raised her hand to cover her mouth, to cover laughter, as Michael continued, “Keep the questions rated PG, alright?”

“We’re all old enough to handle talking about penises,” Gabriel argued, which spurred Balthazar to burst into laughter so loud that Castiel’s ears practically rang.

“This is why I insist on your family’s for Christmas dinner,” Inias told Anna, grinning so wide Castiel could probably count all of his teeth. “Nothing interesting happens at my parents’ house.”

Anna innocently took a sip of her wine and shot a silent wink to her twin across the table. Castiel was tempted to kick her in the shin, but he knew she would kick back even harder and would aim for the knees, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to walk with a pathetic limp for the next several days.

“When are you seeing him next?” Hester asked, thankfully diverting the conversation from Dean’s package.

“We were talking about doing something for New Years Eve,” Castiel confessed, and the whole table was suddenly cheering.

“Hidden romantic Dean Winchester!” Anna cried, clapping as Balthazar and Gabriel whooped, and Michael laughed with Hester and Inias. “Oh my gosh, that is simply adorable. I bet you he will find something cheesy and then spend the entire time acting all gruff about it and claiming that it’s not his idea.”

Castiel laughed because her hypothesis sounded fairly accurate. Seeing as Anna was probably just as good of a profiler as Dean seemed to be, Castiel would not be surprised if she knew something about Dean’s mannerisms that he didn’t.

“You gotta call me and give me the deets,” Gabriel told him.

“I can guarantee that won’t happen,” Castiel replied easily, using his wine glass to point at his elder brother. “You are not my matchmaker, brother.”

“Like hell I’m not,” Gabriel replied, offended.

Michael looked like he was debating on stepping into the argument or just praying for different siblings when Castiel’s phone began ringing from his pocket, and they all seemed to know that there was only one person not in this room that would call him.

“I want to talk to him,” Anna cheered, reaching out and attempting to make a grab for the cell phone as Castiel pulled it out. “I wanna freak him out a little.”

“No, Anna,” Castiel told her, rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to even take it—I’ll call him back after dinn—”

The phone was suddenly wrenched out of his hand and Gabriel demanded into it, “Is this Dean? Dean, how big is your wiener?”

“Gabriel!” Castiel screamed, scandalized, diving for his brother, but Gabriel had already managed to pass it off to Hester next to him, and she immediately pressed the phone to her ear, grinning.

“He’s _so_ embarrassed right now, sorry for this, but this is the best thing to happen to a Novak Christmas since the ham toss last year,” she told him, and then handed it off to Michael.

“Winchester, can you do me a favor?” he asked. “I know this is random, but can you ask your brother to fax me the notes on his new case? I don’t feel like calling him on Christmas but I need them.”

Balthazar grabbed the phone and asked, “Mr. Winchester? My name is Balthazar Novak, and I am an expert banker and money manager, and I just want you to know that, if you break my little brother’s heart, you will find yourself inexplicably bankrupt. I hope we’re clear.”

“Dean,” Anna greeted cheerfully when she finally got her hands on the phone. “Is it sexual harassment if I ask you if you have a hot bod?”

Inias tugged the phone from her and said into it gravely, “You will never love Castiel as much as I do.”

His family was too busy laughing like the heartless, soulless dicks that they were that they allowed the phone to fall back into Castiel’s hands without any fight and Castiel stared down at it for a moment, petrified, horrified, and his family’s laughter was almost deafening when he finally got the courage to press the phone to his face.

“Dean, I am so sorry,” Castiel whispered, terrified, but Dean was laughing just as hard as the rest of his family.

“Does the topic of my dick normally hold conversation at the Novak table?” Dean asked through his laughter, and then was off on a new round the moment the words seemed to sink in.

“Dean!” Gabriel screamed. “Wieners are no joke!”

“Gabriel, that is enough!” Castiel screamed back, and his whole family was laughing again.

“Are your family dinners normally this hilariously disastrous?”

“Yes,” Castiel responded miserably.

Dean’s uncontrollable laughter could power enough energy to light a large city for twenty years.

“Can I call you back later?” Castiel asked, still mortified, and Dean seemed to hear it because his voice became warm, fond, happy, and Castiel felt himself turn red.

“Of course you can,” he told him. “Sorry I interrupted dinner.”

“I hope this is funnier later,” Castiel said, feeling like he might need therapy to recover.

“Call me later, Cas,” Dean told him warmly, and Castiel could almost picture his smile. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Castiel replied, and then hung up. It took all of the strength he had in his body not to hurtle it against the nearest wall and instead tuck it back into his pocket. He turned back to the dinner table, his mouth open in silent horror, and Gabriel was on the floor again.

“I hate you all,” Castiel announced seriously, before turning back to his food, trying desperately to hide his smile, because he didn’t know how he would explain why something as ridiculous as his family hijacking his phone to embarrass him would make him happy.

~*~

“That was the cheesiest thing that’s ever happened to me,” Castiel told Dean as they walked away from dinner and a carnival, their fingers intertwined. Dean tried to duck his head and use shadows to hide the embarrassed blush that crossed his face, but he did not succeed. Castiel laughed and bumped him with his shoulder, leaning in and pressing their lips together when Dean looked back up at him.

“You’re adorable,” Castiel told him. “And I don’t use that word lightly.”

“I tried to be _romantic_ ,” Dean protested, his embarrassment growing by the second. “Too much for the first big date, right?”

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t think so. But it’s been a while since I’ve been on a first date.”

“Really?” Dean asked curiously, opening the door of the same car he had hit Castiel with, and Castiel paused in fear as he realized the conversation topic he had just allowed to come to pass. “How long?”

Castiel pretended to think, like the answer wasn’t on the tip of his tongue, a number so sickly and daunting that he suddenly felt like he was going to be sick, and he managed to score himself some time to force himself to swallow by climbing in the car, Dean having to cross the front of the car to join him, and he gasped in air in those precious seconds alone. Dean climbed in, starting the car, and turned down the sound of loud rock music so that he and Castiel could speak.

“Four and a half years, almost,” Castiel told him, and Dean glanced over in surprise. Castiel felt like he couldn’t leave it at that, so he cleared his throat uncomfortably and said, “We were together for a long time.”

Dean nodded, ignoring the obvious indication that the story was a lot deeper than that, and Castiel couldn’t be more thankful when Dean started to tell him a story about when he and his brother had stolen some fireworks from their father’s friend for a fourth of July and had destroyed a field setting them off in the middle of nowhere, and Castiel was smiling in no time, so thankful for this man, so thankful for how little thought he had to put into falling for him.

Castiel had known Dean for only a few weeks, but he was already falling helplessly, unable to stop himself, unable to want to. Despite all of his issues, and all of his fears, he knew he was going to fall in love with Dean, and he wasn’t as afraid of that than he thought he would be.

Than he thought he should be.

He felt so safe around Dean. He felt natural. He felt like he was standing in front of a new beginning.

“Okay, so we’ve got two options from here on out,” Dean announced, glancing over to Castiel before fixing his attention back on the road in front of him. “We could either find a place to hole up by fireworks and wait for midnight, or we could go to my best friend’s party and wait for midnight.” He grinned. “No matter what, I’m not letting you go home until I get a dirty midnight kiss, Novak.”

Castiel laughed and said, “Want to stop by the party and decide where to go from there?”

“Wise decision,” Dean said, hooking a left. “Not only because Charlie throws great parties, but because she also would have kicked my ass the second I walked into the office tomorrow if I hadn’t shown up.”

Castiel smiled, and turned his head to watch the city pass him by.

Charlie happened to be a pretty redhead probably a couple of years younger than he and Dean who worked in the FBI’s tech labs and lived in a decent-sized house in Waltham with her girlfriend Gilda. Also, Dean’s idea of a good party seemed to be an even mixture between college kegger and middle school birthday party.

Castiel was still laughing an hour after he watched one of the other techs, some guy named Harry, do a keg stand, run across the room and pin the tail on the donkey, and then immediately proceed to jump on his friend Ed’s back and lose consciousness, his dead weight sending them both slamming into the ground.

There was more than one moment during the party where Castiel had glanced over to look at Dean and had already found him smiling at him, and every single time, he pulled the man into a soft kiss, and Castiel didn’t know that happiness after such a long period of loneliness could ever feel so amazing.

Castiel didn’t drink, had never been much of a fan of the impairment—the last time he had been drunk was the night after Meg’s funeral, and he didn’t like to think about that—and Dean was driving and had to work in the morning, so the both of them were sober and in control through every moment that they held onto each other, that they tangled closer on the couch, that they muttered sarcastic comments and laughed to each other.

They yelled the countdown to the new year with everyone, all of them looking to the clock to tell them to start anew but, standing there and shouting with Dean, watching the way he grinned around at all of his friends, entirely at ease, his hand curled tightly around Castiel’s—Castiel realized that he didn’t need time to tell him when he could start over. He had only needed the trench coat angel’s warning, and a nasty bruise from a 1967 Chevy Impala.

The countdown hit midnight, and a new year that Meg wouldn’t see came to be, and, this time, Castiel didn’t think of it that way.

He just let Dean kiss him, relaxing into his arms, and he figured maybe everything would finally be alright.

~*~

In the chill of March, underneath bed sheets with warm naked limbs tangled together and hearts exposed, Castiel and Dean so trapped inside of the world they created for themselves that it felt like nothing could touch them, it felt like he was watching through a dream as Dean reached out and put his hand on Castiel’s chest, over his heart, and Castiel couldn’t help the smile that curled onto his face as he pulled his arms tighter, pulling Dean closer to him.

“What are you thinking?” Castiel couldn’t help but to murmur into the peaceful silence. Dean hesitated, considering the question with more weight than it was meant, before he let out the breath he had been holding, the rush of air sending goose bumps onto the skin over Castiel’s collarbone.

“A couple of questions that I don’t think you want me to ask right now,” Dean told him honestly, and then shrugged. “We can talk about it later.”

Castiel may have a tendency to miss important social cues, but he wasn’t oblivious, so he stated, “You want to ask me about Meg.”

Dean flinched like the name was a stab into his skin, and Castiel glanced down at the man, curious. Dean shifted slightly, uncertain, and it was a look that didn’t fit Dean—he was usually so confident that the looks of unease were sometimes almost entirely too endearing, but this was not one of those moments, and Castiel’s stomach flipped at the sight of it, not liking what it could mean. Dean sat up on his elbow, looking over Castiel, and took back his free hand to run it through his hair, a telltale sign of his stress.

“We don’t have to talk about this right now,” Dean reiterated, looking like he wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

For years, Castiel had shied away from the mention of Meg, and he had been the first person to duck out of a conversation about her. Normally, Castiel would have nodded his thanks and pretended this moment never happened. But he had been with Dean three months, and he loved him with his whole heart, and he couldn’t keep acting like everything was okay. Castiel wanted this mean something. If that meant that he had to talk about Meg, then Castiel would say anything to make everything okay again.

“I need to talk about her, I think,” Castiel admitted, knowing it to be true. He turned to look at Dean, whose gaze was cautious and apologetic. “I think I’ve gone too long ignoring it. What do you even know about her?”

“Her name,” Dean admitted slowly, trying to tease him, but he was so nervous that it didn’t really stick. “I can tell talking about it bothers you. I heard Anna mention her once. Other than that, I don’t know anything. I assumed it was something bad.”

Castiel closed his eyes and smiled to himself a little before he began, “Her name was Meg Masters. She was FBI too, you know.”

“Really?” Dean asked, surprised. “What division?”

“Yours,” Castiel replied easily, settling down closer to Dean and letting out a long breath. “Criminal Investigative. She was great at studying body language—she could always tell when someone was lying. She spent a lot of time either in interrogations or consulting for other departments. She was brilliant. A lot of people considered her dark or cruel, but she was so kind and smart and thoughtful. She and Anna were best friends. That’s how we met.”

Dean could sense there was something deeper, but he didn’t say anything until Castiel was silent for so long that he was sure he didn’t know what to say. Dean searched Castiel’s face cautiously, not wanting to say the wrong thing, and he ended up just asking, “What happened?”

“She was murdered,” Castiel murmured, and Dean froze. And then he pulled away, sitting up, his hands falling onto his lap like he didn’t know what else to possibly do with them. Castiel hated seeing that heartbroken look in those green eyes, that fear that, if he touched Castiel, he might spook like a wild animal, and Castiel didn’t know how to tell Dean that he was doing this so that he could stay.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, but Castiel was afraid of the next words he would say, so he shook his head and let out a sad, exhausted laugh, closing his eyes.

“Azazel Martinelli,” he grated out, his mouth curling in distaste. “She had been consulting on the case with Fergus Macleod-Crowley once he crossed into Boston. We still don’t know what happened but, apparently, she found something. So he killed her.

“I was the last person to talk to her. The last real person. She was talking to me on the phone in the car as she headed back to our apartment about that case, how she had something big, and she said she would tell me when I got back, and it must’ve only taken me fifteen minutes. The front door was unlocked, and, when I opened it, there was blood everywhere. She was in the middle of the room, and there was so much blood, and I don’t even remember calling 911 or what I said or really even the ambulance getting there. I remember Benny asking me questions. I remember just thinking about the Azazel cases I had seen on Anna’s desk, about the pictures I had seen, and I knew it before they told me.”

“Cas,” Dean whispered again, this time with more horror.

“It wasn’t easy sometimes, being with Meg,” Castiel said softly, and he didn’t know where the words were coming from but, once he started speaking, it was like he couldn’t stop. “Meg, she was—Anna once said that I was like an angel, all holy wrath and justice, and Meg was like a demon, chaotic neutral to a fault. We were so different from each other that it balanced out, and it worked. She was the first-ever real relationship I ever felt confidence in. Even if we fought a lot, even if it felt like half the things she told me was a lie, she loved me, and I loved her, and that was enough.”

Castiel looked over at Dean for the first time since he had started talking, expecting to see Dean’s expression drawn into something of neutrality, professionalism, letting nothing show, but instead he was staring at Castiel with pity and admiration and understanding—and, somehow, that felt a little bit worse, at the same time it felt like a breath of fresh air.

“I miss her sometimes,” Castiel confessed, flinching like he was afraid Dean was going to hit him for it, but he knew he never would. Castiel couldn’t help the pained smile he felt working its way onto his face when he said, “She just had this smile—she didn’t smile too often, always smirking and frowning, but when she smiled, it was just—it was the kind of smile that you can’t help but to smile back at. She was dark, and she was dangerous, but there were just moments where she was happy that were just fucking breathtaking and—I miss her.”

Castiel let out a breath like he had been holding it and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see the look on Dean’s face right now. He didn’t know what it would be, and he was afraid of what it _could_ be, and he didn’t think he wanted to know.

“That night that I found her body?” Castiel whispered, finally admitting his worse secret out loud, feeling like his chest was open and exposed and his heart was beating in Dean Winchester’s hands, and he half expected him to crush it in those lovely fingers, because the next thing Castiel whispered could have been considered the truth that set him free when he murmured into the dark, “I was going to ask her to marry me that night.”

He still didn’t open his eyes. Especially when Dean didn’t say a thing.

“I feel so selfish,” Castiel admitted, shaking his head slightly, his eyes still closed. “I’m milking a wounded heart when you have just as much of a reason to despise Azazel Martinelli as I do.”

It took Dean a moment to understand, and Castiel opened his eyes when Dean shifted, sitting all of the way up in bed. Castiel felt Dean’s hands curl tightly into the covers, and he opened his eyes to look up at the man, who was staring at him with a pale, surprised, angry face. Castiel slowly sat up as well, and they wasted precious seconds staring at each other, not knowing what to say.

“How long have you known about that?” Dean demanded through stilled lips. Castiel flinched like the words were knives, sinking into his chest.

“Michael mentioned it to me after I met your brother at the holiday party,” Castiel confessed nervously. “Honestly, I forgot about it for a while, and then you mentioned something about your mother and I just—” At the tight pull of Dean’s face, the way he seemed to be forcing himself to stay anchored in place, Castiel stopped, his mouth opening and closing like he was some kind of confused guppy. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you, Cas,” Dean told him slowly, taking a deep breath and letting his clenched fists loosen, his eyes softening significantly when he spied the unease on Castiel’s face, and Dean surprised him by taking a deep breath before pulling him into his arms. “I’m angry because that asshole has destroyed so many people’s lives, and I still hate him for cutting my mom’s short, but now I hate him even more for killing your girl. I—I care about you a lot, Cas, and I see how much it hurts you to know she’s gone, and I would give anything for you to have her back—”

“Stop,” Castiel whispered, never having wanted it to become this. “I turned out happy where I am. I don’t want to be angry about the past anymore. Its uncontrollable, and it’s a permanent mark on our lives, but you’re here now, and I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to talk about tragedy before.”

Dean looked at him, his eyes hopeful and unfathomable, and Castiel cracked a smile because there was nothing, no emotion at all, that he didn’t love about those eyes.

“Meg haunted me for a long time,” Castiel admitted. “Even when I first met you, I could practically hear what she would say about you in my head. But it’s been different the last few months. I haven’t been clinging to her memory, and I haven’t been lost. I’ve been right here with you, and you helped me without even seeming to realize that was what you were doing. I miss Meg, and I loved her, but that doesn’t mean I still do. It doesn’t mean she wasn’t my whole life for a while, but it does mean that doesn’t have to continue to be. For the last couple of months, she hasn’t been.”

Castiel felt like his gaze must be too soft, too exposed and telling, that Dean would take one look at him and sense a deeper commitment and he would run for the hills, but Castiel couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to keep acting like he was broken when he was the strongest he had ever been. Castiel might have loved Meg, but he would have left her if he had met Dean, even if the trench coat angel hadn’t been whispering in his ear. There was something that gravitated Castiel toward Dean, something kind of like charisma but more like comfort. The angel had told Castiel that Dean would be important, but this was more than important. Castiel had once thought Meg had filled his world until he had met Dean Winchester, and he realized that the world was bigger than he had ever imagined.

Even if it meant rejection, Castiel wasn’t going to hide that overwhelming feeling that filled his chest every time he saw Dean Winchester smile.

Dean met his gaze evenly, serenely, and he didn’t run away when he saw Castiel’s open intensity, his unspoken declaration. Instead, his face broke into a glorious smile, and Castiel barely had the time to breathe a sigh of relief before Dean was pulling him against his chest and kissing him, his hands holding his face almost reverently. Castiel sunk into the embrace, comforted and relieved, his fingers sinking into Dean’s hair. Dean made a pleased sound in the back of his throat before pulling away, kissing his forehead, keeping him close, and Castiel continued to breathe, and the world continued to revolve around the sun, and everything seemed a little bit brighter.

“We should get some sleep,” Dean murmured into Castiel’s skin. “Work in the morning. Adult responsibilities.”

Castiel hummed and glued his lips to Dean’s chest, leaving a mark as Dean wriggled underneath of him.

Sleep was not had that night, and it was worth it twentyfold.

~*~

Castiel regretted agreeing to go to Michael’s Easter dinner. He didn’t know what in the world he had been thinking, or even what he had expected. However, it would be a good idea to note that Dean’s penis was, indeed, a new topic tradition in the Novak household.

“Does he satisfy you good and proper, little brother?” Gabriel asked, using his fork—which had a giant slab of ham on the end—to point at him, his eyes narrowed. “I only want what’s best for you.”

“Untie me,” Castiel responded, attempting to tug his legs free of his bindings.

Balthazar snorted inelegantly and muttered, “That’s what he said.”

Inias giggled from Anna’s side before stuffing his face with mashed potatoes, looking like he wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else. Traitor.

“He seems to be really good for you,” Anna noted approvingly, smiling. Her hand reached down to touch her stomach reflexively—she had found out she was pregnant about two weeks earlier, but she still couldn’t seem to help brushing her fingers against the skin, anticipating the day when the baby may kick to show its attention. “He smiles a lot more. He used to smile to be polite or to mock people, but now he just wanders through the halls looking like a love-struck puppy.”

“No, seriously, untie me,” Castiel said.

“You’ll run away again,” Hester pointed out calmly, and Michael smirked. “You never tell us anything about that gorgeous boyfriend of yours.”

Castiel muttered something that wasn’t really words under his breath before stuffing green bean casserole into his mouth, planning in the back of his mind how he would be able to smuggle out a slice of the pie he smelled from the kitchen for Dean, who would absolutely never forgive him if he didn’t come back with at least a sliver.

Castiel didn’t even realize he was smiling, which was another symptom of Dean Disease, until Balthazar said, “Ugh, he’s entirely sappy now.”

“Why are you talking with an accent?” Michael challenged, not able to hold back the question anymore. He frowned over at the middle Novak. “You’re not British. Why?”

“I’m working with a lot of them at the moment,” Balthazar told them, a new lilt to his words, and he shrugged. “I think their mannerisms are rubbing off on me. I don’t pretend to understand these things.”

“You’re a moron,” Gabriel told him.

“My foot’s going numb,” Castiel announced.

“I didn’t tie them that tight,” Inias snorted, rolling his eyes. “Stop being a baby and just tell it as it is.”

“I don’t know what you people want from me,” Castiel confessed a lie. “Everything is fine. We are happy. Can we talk about someone else’s love life now? Or is it just me that gets picked on?”

“That’s what happens when you’re the youngest,” Anna pointed out as if she wasn’t only a handful of minutes his senior. “If we didn’t tie you up, you would never tell us anything. Now, give me details. Are you two going to move in together?”

“No,” Castiel sighed, rolling his eyes. “We’ve only been together for four months, Anna. We’re in no rush.”

“How about marriage?” Gabriel asked.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “How is that less of a rush than moving in together?”

Gabriel snorted and rolled his eyes, waving his glass of brandy in the air dismissively. Hester watched him anxiously, obviously praying none of it would spill. “So you’re not cohabitating, and you’re not getting married—are one of you man-prego? This relationship needs a good drama. It _demands_ it.”

“We have drama,” Castiel objected, rolling his eyes. “It’s just less explosive than mine and Meg’s was. She used to break plates, but Dean just goes and steams in the corner for a few hours.”

Castiel didn’t miss the way Anna and Michael exchanged a raised-eyebrows glance. For a moment, Castiel couldn’t understand why—and then he realized that it had been the first time he had mentioned Meg casually around his family for the first time in the last almost two years.

Castiel chose to let it go, and to let them come to their own conclusions.

“You’re gonna have to at least rate the sex before I untie you,” Gabriel informed him, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

Castiel slumped forward, slamming his head against the table.

~*~

“You seem alright,” Michael tried to bring up the subject they had all danced around during dinner, and Castiel wasn’t in the mood to talk around it anymore. He kicked slightly, rocking the porch swing, and Michael crossed his arms as he leaned against the porch post, his tie pulled loose and his light yellow dress shirtsleeves unbuttoned and pulled up past his elbows. This was one of the moments where Castiel almost still wished he smoked, just so he could do something with his hands.

“I know that Azazel Martinelli’s trial starts next week,” Castiel just said the words out loud, ripping off the Band-Aid, and Michael didn’t even blink. “And I’m fine. I’m not going, and I’m not pretending like it’s not happening. The evidence is damning enough that they don’t even need my testimony. No jury will find him innocent, and I am moving on from having my life revolve around him.”

“Okay,” Michael said.

Castiel waited, but his eldest brother said nothing else. Castiel looked up, confused, but Michael was still looking at him curiously, not saying anything. It made him feel anxious.

“Just okay?” Castiel demanded after too many unnerving moments of silence.

“It’s your choice to make,” Michael said, and then smiled. “I’m just glad you made it. I’m proud of you, Castiel, you know that? You’ve gone through Hell, and you pulled yourself out.”

“No,” Castiel murmured, closing his eyes. “He did.”

“You both did,” Michael corrected them both, and then crossed a few paces to sit next to him, leaning back. “Sam told me that Dean is smitten with you, and it’s extraordinary that you seem just as interested in him.”

“He makes it easy,” Castiel murmured, smiling a little. “Everything. Everything is easier.”

“You should bring him around for a family dinner sometime.”

“No thanks,” Castiel responded before Michael had even finished speaking, and Michael threw his head back before leaning over and clapping him on the shoulder. Castiel slipped and let his smile crack through the mask, stretching across his face in the way that Dean had taught him it could.

Castiel owed Dean so much. He loved him so much.

“I’ve only ever just wanted you to be happy, little brother,” Michael told him, a peaceful smile on his face. “I think Dean Winchester is good for you.”

“I think so too.”

Michael mussed Castiel’s hair before wandering back into the house, leaving Castiel behind to frown and attempt to fix his hair, only to give up after a handful of seconds of blind fumbling with the strands. Castiel leaned back into the chair, slumping down and letting his legs take up too much room on the porch, taking a deep breath of the cool nighttime air before closing his eyes.

He barely had thirty minutes of peace before he felt radiating heat like the sun on his skin, and he saw light behind his eyelids. He almost sighed as he cracked one eye open, checking to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.

The trench coat angel was standing before him, his hands clasped patiently in front of him. His ducked head lifted as he noticed Castiel’s attention, and he widened his stance slightly, rising to his full height.

“I,” the angel began, and then paused before he laughed a little and continued, “I’m happy for you, Castiel Novak. I am glad this was the path you chose to follow with Dean Winchester.”

“Was there another path?” Castiel asked, surprised. He straightened into a more respectable sitting position, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. “I don’t know how Dean and I could have been anything other than what we are.”

Castiel saw the angel smile so sadly through his body language. “Yes,” the angel told him. “There are many other ways that the Winchesters have entered your life. In some of them, they have even betrayed you in the worst possible ways, and you have done the same in return. This, I am thankful, is not one of them. His soul in this reality is the same pure I remember it being when I first met him, so long ago, in a horrible place. I am happy that this version of himself found this version of yourself.”

“What the hell is going on?” Castiel demanded, suddenly so sick of sitting by aimlessly and letting the trench coat angel give him cryptic answers, so sick of waiting for this mysterious figure to pop up just to tell him the impossible. “What are you even talking about, _this reality_?”

The angel continued to smile, but said nothing. Castiel didn’t need him to fill in the details.

“Who are you?” Castiel whispered, but they both already knew.

“I am you, Castiel,” the angel told him, and then the light dimmed, and Castiel was staring into the strangest reflection of himself. The angel looked like him but seemed older, like a million years had carved him into skin and bone, and his clothes were battered and his eyes were hopeless. The skin of his knuckles were torn and bloodied, and there was a crescent of a bruise around one of his eyes. The angel smiled at him sadly, and the exhaustion was written boldly on his face. “I cannot tell you many details, since it may alter timelines, but I will answer what I can.”

“Other realities?” Castiel replied dumbly, gaping at the angel before him. He, _himself_ , smiled at him a little.

“Yes,” he responded, his voice grounded and just as deep as Castiel’s, but he sounded so much more tired. “Many of them. Mine is the primary, but there are millions of different universes and realities splintered off from it, and you exist in one of them.”

“Why are you here in mine, then?” Castiel demanded, somehow managing to ask comprehensive questions even if his heart was pounding, and he was entirely sure schizophrenia had developed later than average in him or something of the like. The angel nodded like that was a good question before he hesitated.

“I—” the angel began, and then paused to consider, looking uneasy. He took a long, deep breath. “I came here because I wanted this version to go happily. I wanted it to be a way that I will never be able to have it. You and Dean—me and Dean—we love each other in different ways, in every universe, but the souls in this one are the closest to my true reality. I wanted the two of you to find each other, and to have the best of all good.”

“And your reality isn’t happy?” Castiel asked, his stomach turning, as he looked up into a version of himself, believing him entirely, knowing without needing to ask that this was the truth and this was as real as his own heartbeat. He looked up at the trench coat angel and saw the worst, but he did not expect the answer the angel gave him.

“In my universe,” the trench coat angel whispered, his bloodied fist clenching, “you love Dean Winchester so strongly, but there comes a time—he ceases to be the man you knew. He becomes something worse than monsters. In my universe, you either have to save Dean Winchester, or you have to kill him.” The trench coat angel took a long, watery deep breath. “And I think it’s too late to save him.”

Castiel didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what he could have possibly said that would have made all of this acceptable. He felt the angel’s loss, felt it like the angel had stuck his hand inside of his chest and ripped out his heart, and he didn’t know what he could possibly say to him that would make it better. He didn’t know if there were words in the English language.

“I cannot love Dean Winchester the way he deserves to be loved,” the trench coat angel told him, “so I came here to make sure you would. Because, in all of these universes, this is the closest, and I can’t raise my blade against Dean unless I know that, somewhere out there, he is happy. That is all I want, Castiel. It’s all I ever wanted. I just want Dean Winchester to be happy.”

“He is,” Castiel whispered, his throat thick with emotion. “I’ll always be there to make sure he is.”

“If there comes a time where you must let him go, that is okay, too,” the angel told him softly, carefully, and Castiel was surprised. “That can be the natural order of things, Mr. Novak. I know all too well the hard choices that sometimes have to be made to accommodate to the spirit of Dean Winchester. I believe that you are, of all of the souls in this world, the one that will be able to love him wholly and irrevocably. And I am so happy that one of us has a chance.”

Castiel wanted to say something, but he surprised himself when he let in a ragged breath and realized he had been crying. He reached up and touched the wetness on his face and the angel looked on, almost curious, almost aging before Castiel’s very eyes.

“Thank you for loving him,” the trench coat angel whispered, “the way I can not allow myself to any longer.”

Castiel didn’t say anything, and the angel didn’t seem to mind. He just smiled, truly grateful, and then he glowed, and Castiel couldn’t look away from the glory of the angel until he was gone, and the air was still and cool and peaceful, and Castiel was left out alone to sit on the porch swing, silent tears running down his cheeks, wondering about universes older and larger than his own, wondering about the angel, wondering all the ways he could possibly make this life mean the most of them all.

Castiel sat on that bench for a long time, letting the dark sliver in around him and, eventually, he realized that he couldn’t stop smiling.

~*~

The second Castiel walked through the door of Dean’s apartment, key in hand and Tupperware in the other, Dean appeared, smiling brightly, and reached out to put his palms against Castiel’s cheeks and pull him into a sweet, soft kiss.

“Hey, stranger,” Dean greeted in a murmur, their lips sliding against each others before he pulled away and grinned at him, his eyes dancing in the artificial light like the colors splashed across a northern sky. His gaze immediately slid to the Tupperware in Castiel’s hand, and his face split into a devious grin. “Did you bring me pie?” he asked eagerly, widening his eyes in an attempt to look innocent, and Castiel felt his mouth twitch spastically up into a wide, fond, loving smile.

“I love you,” Castiel told him, thinking of the angel and wanting to spend every second of his life saying the words, knowing that he wouldn’t always get the chance, even in another world. Dean glanced up at him and smiled happily, his hands falling down Castiel’s chest to grip at his jacket.

“I love too, too,” Dean told him, relaxing in Castiel’s gaze, smiling at him. In true Dean fashion, however, it didn’t take long for that soft smile to dissolve into a smirk, and he raised his eyebrows and tugged at Castiel’s jacket, nodding down to the plastic container still in Castiel’s grasp. “Do we get pie now?”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel sighed impatiently, shaking off his boyfriend’s hold to cross to the kitchen counter, setting the container down. “I have apple, peach, and pumpkin.”

“You’re the best, you know that?” Dean told him cheerfully, crossing behind him to grab two forks from the silverware drawer and barely passing Castiel his before digging in, heaving himself onto the counter, his legs kicking cheerfully like a little kid as he chewed happily on a mouthful of apple pie, waiting to swallow before grinning widely and suggestively at him. “So, did your family talk about my dick again?”

Castiel sighed again, which was answer enough for Dean, and Castiel watched Dean throw his head back and laugh with his body, the sound filling the room and the silence in the spaces, his smile filling in light where it was needed, making Castiel’s world light up like the glow of an angel.

Castiel leaned against the counter, watching Dean Winchester laugh and smile in their little reality, and he couldn’t have been more thankful for all of the events that had fallen into place to get them here, for better or for worse.

Castiel loved Dean Winchester, and Dean Winchester loved him back.

And, really—isn’t that kind of the whole point?

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!
> 
> My Tumblr: shortenedlanguage.tumblr.com
> 
> xo Slang


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